


When it rains it pours

by ToMyWiseSo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Dark, Hogwarts, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:47:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22091317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToMyWiseSo/pseuds/ToMyWiseSo
Summary: Such a mysterious place the time room. It's truly amazing that nothing went horribly wrong (at least not for our heroes) when duking it out in a room full of powerful and fragile artifacts…But what if it did?*A story of more accurate depictions of medieval life and full of unhappy endings.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 10





	1. Time is a tricky thing

**Author's Note:**

> WARING: I am no expert on any of the subjects in this story. I deeply apologize if I mishandle any subject and would ask any person who reads this to not take my writing as an example or accurate depiction of serious subjects. If you can be triggered by certain things including (but not limited to) assault, depictions of death, and mental health then please take care of yourself and not read this story. It will be a darker rendition of medieval travel as well as more historically grounded. This will be a very niche story and will likely not be of interest to most people so I thank those who are and hope you enjoy!

~`\\)*(/`~

A cold wind swept through a deserted courtyard, the scrape of shriveled auburn leaves echoed off the stone as they fluttered away. 

A flurry of mangled cloth materialized and landed eloquently on the ground. As two glinting boots touched stone a clatter of metal bounced behind the figure. Rocking in place sat a rusted goblet, that had seen better days, the booted figure seemed to disregard entirely. 

“ _Boy_ ” A cavernous voice calmly called, reverberating off the many crevices and walls that made up the crumbling castles’ courtyard. 

“Yes” A raspy yet sullen reply could be heard. It was clearly the voice of a boy, not yet twelve. 

“Come” the voice echoed off the walls again, the command sounding terse. 

Within the shadow of a crumbling column and a dying bush the height of two men, a skinny outline shifted closer. Only two fifths of a boys face came into view and no matter how dark the night was the boys eyes reflected the moonlight like a pool of water, bottomless fathomless pits.

“Closer” The booted figured beckoned in its shrouded robe, extending a sheet-white hand that almost appeared incorporeal and floating.

The boy moved slightly back sinking into the shadow, one eye still peeking out.

“You will not be punished, now come” The figure calmly cajoled but looming threat seemed to be interwoven with the atmosphere around them.

A clear battle took place within the boys reflective pools, in the end his will whittled down.

Slowly, centimeter by centimeter the boy moved closer. The shadows slipping off his skin like silk falling to the floor, smooth and fluid. Tentatively a small hand stretched out to meet the phantasmic one before it. 

Growing impatient the figure grabbed the boys outstretched hand and tugged him close.

“I’ve not much time, so I’ll keep this farewell short. You’ve grown too old for play, you are to learn now. I’ve made arrangements for you, I’ll be sending you north come sunrise.” The figure began to turn but the boy tugged albeit in vain as his thin frame was pulled along. Dread and fear mixed on his features as the boy tugged more desperately. 

“ _No. Please_ , I don’t want to go, please f-” the boys horse whining was cut off by a stiff smack to his bony cheeks, the crack of the impact echoed crisply for seconds after. Dancing around the boys head.

“I’ll have no words from you about it. Not this time.” the figure shot a pithy response.  
With one hand holding the boy, the figures other hand shone exposed revealing a silver ring slithering in place.

“Yes… father” the boy mumbled defeated, a red mark resembling a serpent forming on his cheek. 

~`\\)*(/`~

**Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.**  
_Marcus Annaeus Seneca_ (54 BC – 39 AD)

Hermione had never been a bad person, or at least she had tried not to be. 

She even remembered the first time she had learned the importance of kindness, even if it was only to keep her mother happy.

She remembered her mother's words, the disappointment clear in her eyes.

_“Hermione, the world may be unfair or cruel but that doesn’t mean you can be too. There are far more people who give into that cruelness than not.”_

From that point on she had promised herself that she would actively try to be better.

Even if she hardly remembered the words she had said to invoke the scolding. 

It was those words that resonated in her head as consciousness came back to her… 

Only to be blown off with the wind as her eyes slowly opened.

_Where was she?_

_And more importantly… what happened?_

Everything blurred, spun, hurt. 

She didn’t trust herself to move, she could feel the ground beneath her waver in slow tossing movements that reminded her of a ships deck before a storm.

Blood beat heavily in her head, chest, and hands.

Her nose stung, like it had been hit… hard. A coppery taste took over her mouth but wasn't pungent enough to draw much attention, at least not enough to overpower the other incredibly unpleasant sensations she was experiencing at the moment.

Hermione pulled heavy limbs from underneath herself and slowly, weakly, begun to push herself off the ground in movements that required much more focus than she would have liked. 

She needed to collect herself, think of what she last remembered. She had enough awareness to at least put together she was in a precarious position.

She was in a forest, mid day… fall?

The trees around her did indeed have the red orange tint of the season.

But… 

That wasn't right last she checked it was spring. 

And…

She wasn't in a forest either.

She had been in the ministry, _they had been fighting_ , she had been in the time room. She remembered the shrill sound of glass smashing then… she drew a blank. What exactly happened?

Crawling over to a tree, to use as a solid wall for herself, Hermione suppressed the panic crawling up her throat in the form of bile. She needed to stay calm, panicking was what those muggle programs said not to do in situations such as this.

 _But how applicable is a muggle solution right now?_ A traitorous part of her whispered.

 _CALM_ , she needed to be calm. It wasn’t so bad, she had all her limbs from what she could see and she was alone so no death eaters… that had to count for something? 

Could it be?

 _No!_ Hermione shook herself from the line of thought. Time was a tricky thing, they should have only sustained personal injuries… right?

Amnesia she presumed.

But what did that mean for her? Was it magical or physical trauma?

If it was fall then the school term must have started. But she didn’t seem to be in the forbidden forest. So where was she?

Her body seemed to rage over her inattention as it started to shake from within her muscles, an uncomfortable feeling, and her breathing picked up along with her heart rate. 

How many times would it take to repeat ‘everything's _fine_ ’ to herself before it were actually true?

A sob wracked her body, even though in her head she had no clue why. Her mind felt calm… ish. Was it physical trauma. Did her body take the wheel and drive her motor choices? Did it panic over her less than stellar physical state? 

Amazingly enough she wasn’t panicking as she would expect to, with her mind racing, she guessed that it was just too puzzling. When she had no information on what was happening it was hard to form a clear panic path to take. She couldn’t formulate a clear line of thought.

At that moment she was too exhausted to fight with herself so she gave in.

Whatever the answer was, she sat leaning against that tree till the sun began to dip behind the horizon, listening to birds coo as she tried to collect herself.

It was a most indescribable feeling, having what she assumed to be a gap in her memory. Like an old film having a chunk cut out, just jumping to the next scene with no context. It left the film-goer scratching their head, losing the plot of what was happening. 

Curling up to hug herself Hermione let her bodies panic wash over her, a total feeling of loss of control in every aspect. 

Hermione cursed in her head over the mostly incapacitated state she was in for most of the day, as no matter what season she thought it was the temperature was still rapidly dropping and her breath began to condense into clouds. The cold numbed her lips and tear stained face. It wasn’t even fully dark, she knew at this rate she wouldn’t survive the night. And it was as her hand automatically went for her pocket, she felt fear arise again. 

It wasn’t there.

Her wand was _gone_.

Was this how she was going out, dying of hypothermia? She damned the world to hell and berated herself for not practicing more wandless magic. Currently it was easy to see that she shouldn't have relied so heavily on her wand, for situations exactly like this.

They were at war for Merlin's sake.

Her friends needed her right now, who knew what was going on without her?

Who knew what _had_ been going on.

She sure as hell didn’t.

 _No_ , she was not going to wait around for her death, not so pathetically at least. Magic be damned, she had lived most of her life as a muggle. Being wandless shouldn’t cripple her so much as to give up, lay there, and die just because magic wasn’t an option. 

Hermione pushed herself up from the ground with great effort and support from the trees trunk. 

Still leaning against the tree she took a testing step and once she deemed the ground stable she headed in the setting suns direction. If she kept straight the sun should rise facing her back, it was a start when it came to general direction and also meant she was heading west.

Look for shelter and try to start a fire were her two goals for the night. Staying put didn't seem like the best idea when she didn’t even remember how she ended up there, let alone the last few months. So she wasn’t planning on a search party looking for her.

By the time it was completely pitch black she had settled to use a semi collapsed fox hole against a tree and a huge pile of dead leaves as her bed. The semi hole of dirt was decently insulating and combined with the leaves, she was able to retain a bit of what little body heat she had left.

In her leaf huddle she poured all her energy into igniting a stick, casting a warming charm, and well anything else she could think of. A few times she produced a small flame, after an hour or so, before it burned out on the stick and then she’d try again and again, desperation was a good motivator to improve wandless magic but in turn more unstable. The vivid image of cooking herself alive from accidentally lighting her leaf bed on fire kept her from being to forceful with her attempts. After an accumulated relighting of the stick it became somewhat of a hot coal from burning within and she let herself drift off with the weak heat it gave, buried in some dirt beneath her (she knew it would suffocate it but the heat was needed), all with the hope that she would be waking up the next morning. 

When her eyes did (thankfully) open to a cheery sunrise a deep wave of relief came over her and she let herself sit there watching the sky grow brighter with a renewed sense of appreciation for the life she had been given.

Hermione fully acknowledged that her eyes opening that morning was the less likely option of the two she had faced the night before. 

When she started on her walk again she was glad to note that the sun had indeed risen to her back, giving hope that she wasn’t completely lost, even if it was just a shred of direction. It was the one shred of control she had over the situation and it anchored her to sanity. 

She admired the calm scenery on her walk, the rustling trees and filtered light that peaked through the foliage. Soon it registered in Hermione's head that the life of the forest wasn’t entirely muggle. It was in small things. Be it the oddly warped shape of the trees trunks, or the familiar speckle of plants she had seen in herbology books before. 

Hermione smirked to herself when she noticed small shiny bug like creatures shyly watching her from behind stems and leaves. 

Pretending to not notice them she picked up a hooked stick from the ground and began swatting at leaf piles, making rouge and bronze flutter about. 

She was right in her guess that they were playful creatures, soon what would at first appear to be dust scattering up from her movements, swirled around her in patterned formations. 

Little sprites zipped around her in glittering splendor.

Hermione couldn’t help but laugh, finally something that was familiar. 

This forest was magical!

It was one step closer to home. One step closer to finding her way back to her friends. Not to mention reassuring that she wasn’t too lost. 

But what magical forest was it? Certainly not the forbidden forest, it was much too peaceful. 

The fauna and flora were consistent with UK regions, so that narrowed it down. But with what little she had encountered she couldn’t discern further. 

Eventually the sound of rushing water drew her attention, it sounded like it was off path and she glanced at the sun to see where it was. It was still early morning and not quite in the middle of the sky. Hermione guessed she could still find her way even if she checked out the sound. As she approached, pushing past brambles, just visible in the distance she saw a river barely big enough to be considered one.

It had fairly calm waters that were a murky teal but slightly translucent, back-dropped by rustling trees that looked like rippling water. The clearing surrounding it was a mid fall oil painting, it captured the definition of serenity. 

Slowly she approached the water, debating over the pros and cons of ingesting it.

Hermione sighed.

She was severely dehydrated, she knew it from the permeating headache and particularly dark urine she had. She knew she was in no position to be picky but still she couldn’t help but have all the possible parasites and diseases in it get rattled off in her head. 

Was she supposed to take anything she could get? Or was there a better option? She didn’t know! It irked her to no end that her knowledge on the matter was quite lacking. She had no need to learn such things for years. If you needed a cool glass of water, just summon a cup and a quick spell, not once would you need to do more than wave your hand. So there was no need to learn about filtering water or how to tell if it was safe. Even the knowledge she had from before Hogwarts was no great help as it was sparse on anything survival and mostly focused on philosophy, history, maths, and science. She could even remember more about the public library she would frequent as a child, the oddly sticky fading tables (made of suspiciously fake looking wood) or the plastic fraying covers over many books and their yellow little tag on the spine marking it library property. And Ms Mould the ancient looking librarian who could only whisper and sit statuesque alone for hours with waspy white hairs. But nothing on drinkable water! 

Sighing Hermione inspected its contents closer. It was dark, or that could have been the river beds colour, with one section of rapids having rocks protrude up from beneath. Nothing seemed sinister from the look of it. 

To hell with it, she could suffer the consequences later. It might even subdue her burning stomach for a bit if she drank enough. 

Bending down to an awkward position she cupped her hands and began the arduous process of drinking with her fingers. Subtle but noticeable particles of dirt drifted in her mouth with the less subtle taste of, luckily, cleaner pond water. It was by no means pleasant but still relieving to know she wasn’t going to pass out soon from lack of hydration. After all, it took roughly 3 days to die without water while food was 7 so food was going to be put on the back burner for the time being. 

Finally sitting back up and resting on her back heels for a bit she was able to once again take in her surroundings. Just in time to see a small boy gaping at her from across the river, he looked to be ten or twelve. She opened her mouth to call out to him but the words caught in Hermione's mouth when she took a closer look at him.

Were they at a medieval fair?

He wore a grayish tan tunic with stained worn loose fitting dark trousers and a thin leather belt at his waist. A quintessential feudal serf child.

Mouth still agape he dropped the leather water pouch he had been holding and turned to run.

“WAIT-” Hermione yelled out to him to no avail as he disappeared behind the treeline. 

Cursing to herself she pushed away a few screaming thoughts, to a few revelations she had, to focus on not letting her first human encounter slip through her fingers so easily. Making an impulsive decision she ran to the rapids and jumped for the first protruding rock.

She wavered a bit on landing and could feel a thin slippery surface beneath her feet. She knew hesitation meant it less likely that she would get across so she jumped as agilely as she could from stone to stone. Trying to move as if she were light and weightless.

She saw the shore was one hop away and her concentration faltered at the sudden excitement.

She felt her feet falter on the slimy surface. The strong current gleefully swept her legs off the rock and she landed with no grace on the side of the grey mass with forceful impact and then swiftly got pulled away. It was no real cause for alarm as she was right by the shore so with only a small struggle did she pull her water bogged body to land and collapse on the dirt as she clutched the side that landed on the rock. If she were lucky the ribs would only be bruised. Broken ribs took years to heal, what with the constant movement of them. And from what she put together she was a few hundred years off from finding any helpful doctor. 

At first she _would_ have just thought the boy was dressing up or with his parents at a fair. But no reenactment would have a child go out on his own in the forest to fill a leather water pouch from questionable water _and_ react so badly when finding a strange looking woman drinking by hand from said water. Even with all that she normally would have found other plausible explanations before thinking of something so ridiculous as unwittingly time traveling back a few hundred years. But she had been in **the** department of mysteries in the _time_ room. 

She felt the colour drain from herself as she became dizzy and this time she didn’t suppress the bile in time as her clear stomach contents retched up. She could taste the stomach acid in the back of her throat as she wiped her mouth and tears threatened to spill again.

She wanted to go home. She wanted her bed. She wanted her mother. Her comforting voice, her scent. 

The world Kept throwing increasingly difficult tasks at her and this time it just felt too daunting.

She started (loudly) hyperventilating as she fought to control herself with the fear washing over her. Gasping for air and whimpering at the same time.

Merlin, and Merlin was all too fitting, she was in the dark ages!


	2. Can't change its own properties...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tekilio Id like to thank you for taking the time to comment, I do appreciate feedback! I had always found it weird when smart characters seemingly couldn't catch on to certain things in stories too. 
> 
> Meggy I'm so happy to hear you like the story so far, I also love founders era stories and wish there was more out there to read.

~`\\)*(/`~ 

Hermione didn’t know how long she lay there, a cold dripping mess, hoping that if she waited long enough it would all remedy itself.

Time was a tricky thing, so tricky in fact that none of this should've been possible. 

This was WRONG.

ALL WRONG.

It wasn’t real, Hermione thought, none of this could be real. 

Burning tears clouded her vision.

She didn’t want it to be real… 

Hermione was stirred out of her mental breakdown when she heard the sound of voices and the crunch of dead leaves. Hermione Stood suddenly in a scramble, backing away from the treeline.

If what she guessed was correct she couldn’t just casually involve herself with others, who knew how the effect of her meddling would trickle down to change the next ten years or hundred years, let alone a thousand. 

Or worse, she shuddered to think, time was on course as it always had been or would be and she was exactly where she was supposed to be.

Hermione froze.

Drawing a blank, as the steps drew near, on how to escape without being noticed. Before she knew it the sources of the noise came into view and there a group of medieval denizens faced her, a young witch. 

What looked to be a young monk with dark coppery hair, the signature bowl tonsure, and simple pious robes with rope around the waist approached first. He had a heavily stubbled and deep lined face with a moderate beer belly. Following the monk was the boy she met moments before and an older, middle aged, nun who looked to be once quite beautiful. The woman had strong sharp features and eyes speckled, the color of blue hydrangeas. She held the boys shoulder as all three people stared with trepidation at herself.

She contemplated running.

Not her most brilliant plan, she knew, but it was quite hard coming up with something clever when faced with people who not three days ago had passed on almost a thousand years prior. 

To her surprise she understood the next words she heard.

The boy from earlier pointed at her while the nun now pulled at his pointing arm as she adjusted her grip on him. 

“Thas’er, saw er’ by th’river all hunched over. She a grindylow brother? I ain’never seen a grindylow b’fore” His voice was high with hints that it would soon begin to crack with puberty. He was likely tall for his age and thin with straw lackluster hair.

Now that couldn't be right. 

She calmed a little as it came to her that people in the middle ages didn’t speak the king's english. Hermione reasoned she shouldn’t be able to understand them if she were… 

A wave of relief washed over her as she almost laughed at what must have been the biggest coincidence to ever happen. 

And that rude boy!

She knew she must have looked horrid and had especially untame hair… but that was just rude! She didn’t look _that_ bad.

The nun pulled the boy back and admonished him, along with a firn smack to the back of his neck.

“ _Hush_ ” She hissed before looking back expectantly to the monk.

Hermione was about to chastise the woman for hitting the boy, such a cruel thing to hit a child, when she was interrupted.

“Might I ask you what you are doing within Streoneshalh Abbey grounds?” The monk asked with a disapproving tone that did little with how soft and high his voice was. 

Had she run into some kind of cult?

She had once heard of some groups in other countries isolating themselves to live without technology or modern systems, not too unlike the magical world. 

It still didn’t explain the gap in her memory from when the time room collapsed to how she ended up in the forest. But if she really did go through time… there should be at least some difference in the way people speak. 

No, maybe it's just one of those reenactment groups, surely they would drop the act if they realized she was in dire need of help and maybe some medical attention. 

The robed monk proceeded to step forward and carefully approach her with a slight frown while still keeping some distance.

And if it was some cult they would have put the effort to learn middle english with how dedicated their outfits were, surely? 

And Streoneshalh, Streoneshalh where had she heard of it before…

That's right! In North Yorkshire there was an abbey with the same name, but in her time it was called Whitby. It was active… It was active from roughly the 7th century and the early 16th century… but that wasn’t right, she did not speak Old english either (which did match up with the abbeys earliest time). The small bubble of hope that sprung up in her burst into relief and in her response she let the frustration about her previous panic over the believed time period stain her voice with bite. 

“Are you having a laugh?” She sounded as crass as Ron at the moment but didn’t let that stop the words from coming out.

She clearly needed help and here they were really getting their money's worth of their reenactment classes. What irresponsible people! 

The woman called out in a tight proper tone.

“I _beg_ your pardon?” She had an indignant look on her face as her grip seemed to tighten on the boy.

“This whole-” Hermione gestured at their clothing.

“Dress up, is all in fine. But don’t take it too far. You lot had me scared for a moment” Hemrione paused “as mad as that sounds.” she muttered, then continued “There's a time and a place for method acting but i'm in need of a hospital or just medical attention and am quite lost. Can you cut the act in favor of letting me use your landline.”

The three other people shared a bewildering look and it was the monk who spoke again but slowly this time as if she might jump him or as if she were a raving lunatic.

“From what I could gather from that… you seem to be in need of aid. The church doors are always open to those who are in need, but…” he seemed to stumble as he fought for what he wanted to express. A quick eye dart to her disheveled state (hair particularly) then her clothes (with a pinched expression) and then back to his companions. 

These people were mad, absolutely mad. 

They clearly spoke modern english, fluently, clearly, and concisely. 

Hermione threw her hands up in frustration and let out a huff as she began to walk in the direction they came from. 

“Fine, let your _dedication_ to reenactment hinder your willingness to help someone clearly in need. If we are anywhere near Whitby I’ll just make my way to Yorkshire.”

She had to be close enough to walk as it hadn’t taken much time for the boy to run for others. 

The nun pulled the boy and herself out of Hermione's path but surprised her with her next words.

“Now hold it. You may be in - _ehem_ \- improper garbs-”

“I’ll say-” the boy cut in before the nun smacked him again this time on the side of his head. 

“ _Quiet Boy_ ” She seemed to angrily exhale the words then seamlessly continued her words in the same affronted tone she had before when addressing her.

“Your attire, yes it is at best inappropriate-”

Hermione looked down at herself then, for the first time taking note of what she was wearing. Jeans, tighter than the boys trousers, a long sleeve shirt, that by modern standards were by no means tight or any tighter than the dress on the woman, but the material was steachy and light. Yes she could agree what she was wearing would be an affront to any sensibility of the medieval time. But weren’t these people taking the act too far by now? 

For what reason would they be doing this? 

Some of Hermione's hope dimmed but she clung on reasoning that no matter what a time turner doesn’t imbue the knowledge of language in any capacity.

 _Time is a tricky thing._

_How…_

No, Hermione thought, not tricky enough to change its own magical properties. 

“But, if you are willing, to more than give up those garbs and commit to repaying the abbey for its effort. Then you may” It seemed to pain her to say it “come with us” The woman finally spit it out and was now tightly holding onto the boy.

The woman's eyes then darted to the monk. 

“That is if it's alright with you, brother Aldo.”

“Yes, yes. It's fine, sister.” He waved dismissively as he began to head back to presumably the abbey, seemingly satisfied that she was no serious matter to be concerned about. Then he muttered to himself.

“Another outsider taken into the fold so soon”

The boy took that time to dart from the nuns grasp and snatch up his water puch before being pulled back to the woods by the ear as the woman berated him. 

Her stomach dropped for the second time that day. 

Why was Whitby called Streoneshalh.

But… how could she understand and speak fluently with these people if it really was the dark ages. She glanced at the nun, she didn’t want to believe it, no she couldn’t not when it was becoming more and more _wrong_. 

“You comin’” The boy called back with a questioning look, like she had grown a second head. 

She made a noise of shocked agreement and her body went on auto pilot as she followed behind the group.

~`\\)*(/`~ 

A short time later she found herself in front of what was indeed Whitby abbey… a Whitby abbey with towering pious grandeur of the medieval era. It looked a lot like the great hall but less rectangular and more sloped in with an extending back of courtyards and non-public quarters that matched the Romanesque style. With various separated plots for groundskeepers and the like.

She had visited the abbey once, she recognized its shape and structure. It was the abbey. 

The only difference…

It had been in ruin last she saw it.

She had to bite her tongue from keeping herself from screaming.

Oh merlin!

It _was_ the dark ages.

Her head was swimming in confusion. How could she understand them? Whitby was right before her, practically slapping her in the face, there was no denying it. 

And oh merlin, how bizarre she must have been to them. It was much too late to avoid being seen and if she didn’t cling to the opportunity of having a roof and food she guessed there would be no other chance. 

But it was just that… it was one thing to be faced with the conceptual idea that one was utterly fucked. It was a WHOLE other thing to come face to face with irrefutable, hard evidence of it. Like life was shoving down her throat the fact that this was reality, real, her new life and she just had to accept it. After all, what could she do? No wand, surrounded by paranoid god fearing muggles, in the _dark_ ages.

She was going to die. 

Once again she ached for her mother. How could she not wish for her at a time such as this. It was instinctual after all. Where she was, was entirely different from where she was from, barring the historical and technological or knowledge difference, culture and life were in stark contrast.

Though the common folk in the early middle ages weren't heavily religious and the church had little power, she was currently standing before an abbey. But if she were in the mid to late middle ages her luck would be even more sparse. She had been lucky enough to grow up in a time and household where religion was a choice not an obligation. The people here would not have been given the same luxury.

But still there were too many differences.

Such as, she was an only child (by choice) who grew up with modern amenities and relative ease (compared to her medieval counterpart) and had doting loving parents in a world where even thirty something year olds still lived with their parents. While others were afforded the ability to never grow up (or had to) never witness death and only deal with it perhaps once every few years. People who were afforded a first world lifestyle and stability, it was something people here couldn't begin to picture. While horrible human actions have always existed and always would, comparatively, the modern counterpart lived a life that was what medieval people would think of as heaven. No matter the complaint of monotony, or lifeless jobs, conspiracies, overload of information, and disparities between people and lifestyles. The cold hard truth was all of the modern problems paled to the dark ages, even when she grew up in a time of major class divide and financial devastation for too many, that problem was turned up from a 100 to a 1000 here.

Here mothers on average had four kids make it through infancy (mortality rate for both mother and child during birth and recently after were too high to count), only one or two (or if lucky three) children would make it to adulthood. Illness was rampant, in less than a month someone you knew was likely dead. Kids would see it everywhere (to a scale unimaginable to the modern person), what a person owned or lack thereof, the 1% was even smaller than 1%, starving was not an exception but a rule, there was no restraint on corporal punishment or the wrath that could be inflicted upon you by someone of a higher class, everything was discouraged, sinful, or not possible, everyone hated everyone, the options for entertainment or options for anything really were so minute calling it slim would be an overstatement, and so on. But the biggest one. 

Education.

It was in such a horrid state that she didn’t even know where to begin.

Without knowledge everything becomes so much worse. People believed insane things in her time even with education. But without… She really didn’t think she could even begin with without. It's what really amplified all problems to unimaginable madness.

Hermione was pulled out of her spiraling panic by the nun yanking her to the back of a side building with a vice grip on her upper arm. How long had she been standing there? Where had the boy and monk gone? 

Closing the door behind herself the nun walked over to a back pile of sacks.

The small stone building she found herself in had a hay roof and various items stored within it. Such as an old cart with hay by it, crates of varying sizes in one corner, farming and tending tools rusted and muddied hung up on a wall, and the sacks that the stern lady was currently sifting through. 

“Am I right to assume that you will be joining the sisterhood?” she called back stiffly sifting through cloth. 

Hermione was quiet for a moment debating it. A witch, in the convent? She had to be barking mad to let herself rest in the viper's pit. But then again she needed a place to stay… and it seemed this was the only viable option. With no family or skills to speak of, that would be of use of course. She guessed she didn’t have much of a choice-

“There should be no hesitation in serving the lord, girl.” The woman gained a hard edge as she interrupted Hermione's musings. 

She felt her lower back stiffen and became much more aware of the cold air prickling her arms and back. Hermione felt her heartbeat pick up as her breath caught in her throat and images of all the cruel Medieval beatings, deaths, and tortures she’d seen on the telly played through her mind. 

“No mis-sister, of course I wish to join”

The woman stayed silent as she continued to comb through the fabrics. The slight sway of her black veil from the back followed the women's movements as she swayed from side to side going through each bag. A strong whistling wind pushed against the western wall of the small structure and even with the stone barrier Hermione felt the violent pressure from the powerful air try to knock her over. 

“The men stay in the main building, Streoneshalh. It's all men excluding Mother Sigrid, she's too old to be far from town. The convent is nearby so it should take no longer than four nights to make it back. It's considered an extension to Streoneshalh so they saw no need to name it” The woman bit out and Hermione could hear the acidity in her tone.

Hermione humed in understanding.

More silence hung between them.

Hermione looked around the room unsure of what to do with herself when the nun quickly returned and shoved various cloths in her arms. 

“Put this on, I’ll be taking you to Mother Sigrid. She's a midwife, the closest thing I can get you for your physical ailments. Even if her expertise is not healing. Before you enter the chapel I would like your christian name.”

Hermione bit her lip, a nasty habit she ought to drop, as she struggled to restrain her questioning about this Mothers qualifications. 

The older nun narrowed her eyes scrutinizing Hermione's lip between her teeth, mouth pressed into a thin line.

“Girl, a common understanding is you answer your senior sister when asked.” Her sharp tone cut through her with a twanging pain, sharp and thin, slowly spinning like a spider's silk.

“Hermione Granger, sister” She quickly supplied.

“Daughter of a farm bailiff?” The woman drawled, brows raising skeptically and gaining a more dismissive tone for the girl in front of her. 

“I suppose it's better than a common farm peasant, but still, you’ll find yourself out of place in the convent. It's mostly lord's daughters. Though there are some exceptions, yourself for example”

Hermione shifted uncomfortably at the direct placement this woman put her in, in this new societal structure.

After turning the cloth in her hands around a few times the older nun seemed to be gnashing her teeth as she finally couldn’t stop herself and ripped the tunics from her hands.

“We are on a tight schedule, don’t dawdle” 

The woman surprised Hermione by wrapping the clothes over her own in a loose brown tunic. The woman suddenly tugged a thin leather belt around her waist, causing her to jerk back and forth a little as the woman adjusted its tightness. Before the older woman stepped back she swatted away perceived dirt from the tunic with just enough strength that it stung a little when she hit. 

“Alright, you are now presentable enough to see Mother Sigrid without scaring the woman to death” she said with a cutting voice as she stepped back. 

Without waiting for a reply the woman gripped her upper arm once again and dragged her away.

The two entered Streoneshalh through a courtyard and walked along a columned path with bare walls, the stone was exposed with no plaster and was a pale sandy colour. They passed small rooms that lined the inner walls of the courtyard each with the purpose of prayer and seclusion. In a corner of the courtyard was an ajar door, dimly illuminated by a thin small rectangular window high up on the wall that sloped out. It looked to be a small personal room. It had a splintering dark oak bed with sheets made of thick linen, a small angular chest, a coal hearth burning, and a small side table with a chair occupied by an ancient looking woman. She watched as the woman's shaking hand made the slow journey to her mouth (missing a few times) with a wooden spoon in hand and shallow wooden bowl in the other.

“It's the main meal right now, being midday. The only meal at the abbey. Here you will not have the same gluttonous indulgences as the common folk, there is no morning bread and ale or night ale and cheese, or any other preserved food. While we do have the main meal of the day, same as the peasants, it is not pea or potige, pig or fish, I’m sure I don’t need to list all the foods you will no longer have. You will be eating meals consisting of what is provided. A fine example is what Sigrid Is spooning there.” 

Hermione looked past the (tightly wound) strict nun to look at the contents in the bowl of the mummified one. It didn’t look to be what the dramas on telly depicted as the common food of this time, not the grey slop she was expecting but still not entirely pleasant. It looked like grainy bread picked apart and made into a mush by hot water with flakes of what seemed to be rosemary (probably a luxury in this place and a sign of seniority, to have such a herb) in it. On the small side table next to the woman was a brownish red ceramic mug with what appeared to be ale. 

“Do you have fresh water here or do people here mostly drink ale” Hermione had some nagging curiosity about it ever since she saw the boy at the river.

“ The water here is bogged with bits from the sea, not much is clean around here. It's mostly the children that drink from the river, most of us here drink the ale or water from well. Children don’t have much sense you see” the woman sent a pointed look at her with those words but made no further comment. 

Hermione made a sound of understanding fighting the feeling of being a scolded child. The boundaries of this time, what was expected and normal was wrong for her. At this time they would consider her a woman, not a child. But since her actions betrayed her ignorance of her surroundings she was treated as if she were stupid or with disrespect. 

“Mother Sigrid” The other nun began in a loud tone, as if the woman were deaf. Said old woman opened her mouth only to make a crackled hmm noise, with her nearly toothless concave mouth, as she held her hand to her ear leaning in hunched.

At a near yelling volume the other nun tried again, betraying her thinning temper with a tightly clenched jaw.

“Mother Sigrid, I Have a girl with me who is joining the fold. We came across her in need of healing, can you look at her?” 

“What about mold?” the woman wheezed out but still in an equally loud tone.

“She joined the fold”

“Who did” the woman said in a sharp surprised tone.

The nun who was tensing up the more the conversation dragged on let out a controlled breath of air.

“This young woman with me” She gestured to Hermione.

“Who are you, I’ve never seen you before. What do you want” The woman croaked in a defensive tone. The other nun snapped her jaw shut and had seemed to scramble to collect herself.

“Mother Sigrid, can you have a look at this woman” she settled on.

“Why didn’t you say so, sister Lavinia?” The old woman accused looking indignantly up at, apparently, sister Lavinia. Lavinia's face morphed to look murderous.

Stepping forward Hermione moved to the spot the old woman was motioning at. She was pulled down suddenly to a neal by the woman as she began feeling around her neck and moving lower to feel around the whole body. She didn’t know the validity of this ‘check up’ but she doubted its credibility. After some grabing of her limbs and asking her to let them drop to her side and sliding her hands up under the robes to feel parts of her skin and occasionally pinch it. Halfway through the process she started gnawing at her lip and was sternly reprimanded for the uncontrolled behavior by Lavinia.

“Felt no broken bits or major wounds, and not pregnant.” The woman added the last bit in a drawn out conspiratorial tone. 

Well she could've told her that! This was an utter waste- 

“Wonderful. Now that that's cleared up we’ll be heading out. We”re behind schedule as it is after all. It was lovely seeing you again Mother Sigrid.” Lavinia interrupted with pained sweetness, stopping further conversation to be out as fast as possible. Not that Hermione didn’t agree with the decision.

“Lavinia do you not want to stay for mid day meal?” the old woman shouted by Hermione's ear.

“So sorry Sigrid, but we must be going” Lavinia chirped as she pulled Hermione away.

The old woman called out “but it's not snowing!” in a confused tone.

Hermione was about to ask Lavinia if there was any other credible physician around but thought better of it when she caught a glimpse of the stern nuns face while leading her away. 

Lavinia ended up bringing Hermione to a donkey drawn cart with various sacks thrown in it by the forest's edge. 

While tightening ropes holding down the carts contents the nun decided to speak with her once more.

“That outfit you have, where is it from?” The woman seemed to be holding back and was trying to find the most acceptable way to ask her about it.

Hermione looked down on herself and peeked under the robes she wore at her flimsy shirt. 

“Well…” Hermione thought for a moment, wondering what she should say. 

What would be believable and what could she get away with? Did she need to concoct a story? If so the less she said the better, it would give her wiggle room if they started to suspect her of something. 

It's just… she was a terrible liar. 

Perhaps this woman wouldn’t notice as she had been acting strange all day.

“It's… a nighty, one my… father bought.” Hermione cringed hearing herself and quickly added.

“From a foreign trader”

There was no way she had not come off as strange sounding. Hermione was ready to admit guilt with the look Lavinia gave her.

“And why would you be in a forest in your nighty?” the woman drawled, much like Snape. 

Hermione panicked knowing she couldn't pause coming up with an answer. In her panic her mind did its equivelant of vomiting as it flashed with memories of a young Hermione sitting, surrounded by books, ravenously reading about knights raids and exuberant wealth tossed arround by bickering kings sacking one anothers lands.

Impulsively she blurted. 

“It's all I could find before I left home. Knights from a neighboring territory destroyed my village when my lord passed on.” Hermione tried her best to look forlorn as she spoke. Almost kicking herself for the uncoordinated story.

“Where, exactly, would that be?” The woman became sharp and more alert with penetrating eyes directed at her.

“I doubt you would have heard of it, it was a very small place and I have been traveling for so long” She dodged.

“Oh, that so? Try me” The woman gave her an acidic smile while she ushered the donkey to begin walking. 

Hermione gulped and let her mind race for a plausible answer, she knew of no places that existed now, not even the year she was in. But even if she did know of a town or two, how could she know which ones had been sacked recently!

“My Lord's name was Albus… of the Dumbledore family-” She cringed at her terrible improvisation and felt like smacking her face the moment the words left her mouth. 

“I hail from Hogwarts…” 

There was an awkward silence between the two women as Lavinia stared blankly at Hermione. Hermione could feel a bead of sweat form at the back of her head in the time it took the other woman to respond, in a long drawn out tone.

“I, in fact, have never heard of _'Hogwarts’_ or your old lord”

The two of them stayed in silence as both stared at the other. Hermione refused to elaborate on her words and Lavinia threw an expecting stare her way. 

It remained that way for quite some time.


End file.
